


The coat

by TheGracefulBlueCat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asperger's Sherlock, Childbirth, Faked Suicide, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, John Watson's Reichenbach Feels, John is Not Amused, Labour, Mind Palace, Pain, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Feels Guilty, Sherlock's Coat, Short One Shot, Some Humor, Stimming, The Coat - Freeform, Umbilical Cord, cab ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGracefulBlueCat/pseuds/TheGracefulBlueCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little emotional scenes in which Sherlock's coat is involved.</p><p>New Chapter (beware, there are Spoilers for S4, no major ones, though):<br/>Rosie's Birth</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other characters mentioned belong to BBC, Mr. Moffat, Mr. Gatiss, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal enjoyment and to improve my English; no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands, and no profit is being made.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have a bit of a difficult conversation when John spots remainders of blood on the lining of the coat.  
> Takes place in the summer after Sherlock's return in S3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I haven't given up my other story, worked on it all night in fact, will post the new chapter soon. And this dialogue didn't fit in, so here it is as a one shot.

 

 

They entered a cab, heading to Scotland Yard.

It was warm and Sherlock had his coat over his arm.

The lower part came to rest on John's thigh accidentally while Sherlock leaned forward to tell the cabbie their destination.

The doctor reached for the exposed lining, it was damaged, several small wholes and dark smudges could be seen at the point where the lining was sewed to the trimming of the front.

Sherlock saw John inspecting the material closely and lowered his gaze.

John frowned.

"When did this happen?"

Sherlock ignored the question until John poked further.

"Hang on, that's blood, isn't it?"

"Yes, obviously."

"Is it yours? When were you hurt?"

"It is mine. It was long ago. No need to worry."

"Fine. When did it happen?"

"The Fall."

"Oh," John lowered the broad hem, "So this is actually the same coat you wore when you jumped?"

"Yes of course, why?"

"I thought it was… a new one, it is so… _clean_ … I mean the back must have been a mess, covered in mud and… blood," John's voice faltered with the memories.

"Apparently, it was thoroughly cleaned."

"Not there."

John pointed towards the smudges.

"Well, dry cleaning isn't what it used to be."

"Why didn't you… I don't know… slip it off it before… I mean, you planned to survive, you knew you'd want to wear it again later."

"I certainly hoped I would, but I couldn't be sure and I thought it was appropriate clothing for dying - in case it came to that."

John pressed his lips into a tight line and Sherlock realised this was still a delicate topic.

They drove in silence for what felt like a very long time, when it turned awkward John finally found the courage to ask about Sherlock's time away, a topic the detective evaded most of the times John asked, probably because the doctor had made it clear he didn't want to hear about it in the beginning.

Nowadays John regretted that Sherlock was so tight-lipped about his time away, but he understood he deserved it, at least partially.

"Took it with you on your 'hunt', then?" the former soldier asked in his best neutral tone.

"Couldn't. In disguise, remember."

John gulped.

And Sherlock noted he should change topics.

"I missed it, though, but not as much as… other things," he added.

"What?"

John had obviously not understood and Sherlock felt this was absolutely not a conversation he wanted to have, regretting he had said it already.

Sherlock realised they were probably _really_ talking about other things than his choice of clothing, weren't they? He was just not getting it?

"Do you happen to know where my scarf is?" the detective asked.

"Er… Mycroft brought it to the flat with the rest of your clothing… before the funeral," Sherlock heard the pain that still dwelled in his friend's voice and decided to end this conversation as soon as possible, the change of topic had not had the desired effect.

"That does _not_ answer the question."

"No, I suppose it doesn't," John agreed.

"Then, do you know where it is?"

"Yes."

Sherlock waited for the information, but it didn't come.

"Mind telling me?" Sherlock started to become impatient.

Anthea had bought a new scarf, after the old one undiscoverable, but it was a different, slightly brighter shade of blue and not as soft and smooth as the old one.

He preferred the old one and wanted it back.

"I took it," John finally admitted.

"What? Where?"

"I took it with me."

"Can I have it back, then?"

"No."

"Sorry?"

"You heard me."

The cab stopped in front of Scotland Yard and John decided to do as his friend had done so often before: he exited the cab, ignoring the consultant detective's indignations and evading the topic by ignoring it.

Sherlock hurried after him, but after a few steps slowed down when he remembered that _he_ had nicked two small items from John's room when he had been in the flat for the last time before he left the country to bring down Moriarty's web.

He had chosen them wisely - nothing that might give away his identity - to accompany him on his dangerous, uncertain journey. They had been a lifeline in several occasions.

One of the items was currently in the right inside pocket of the coat, the other in his room at Baker Street.

He smiled at his friend when he caught up with him waiting for the lift, which made John furrow his brows in suspicion, looking sideways at him out of the corner of his eyes.

The lift doors opened and Sherlock passed the doctor and spoke.

"Call it a draw then."

The doctor followed him into the cage and it took another ten seconds until John understood and threw him a scandalised look.

John spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what had vanished from his room, it proved to be unsuccessful.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was written because I noticed that the scarf was a different one than used as a prop in S1 and 2, and I wanted to give a conical reason for that.  
> Feel free to tell me what you think Sherlock would have taken, I am curious.


	2. Rosie's Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's Coat and Rosie's Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock, John and all other characters mentioned belong to BBC, Mr. Moffat, Mr. Gatiss, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I just borrowed them for fun. I wrote this for my personal enjoyment and to improve my English; no copyright infringement intended. No money changed hands, and no profit is being made.
> 
> Well, this is actually not a really a graphic description of a birth according to MY standards but it might be too much for anyone who has never seen one or might be grossed out by the natural proceedings.   
> So be warned, this is quite real life, although I smoothed it out a lot. Don't read if you are not ready for it.

 

 

"John, John... I think you have to pull over!"

Mary was suddenly moving around, kneeling on the seat which finally made Sherlock look up from his phone.

Clearly, she wasn't just in pain, she was doing something with her clothes. But Sherlock couldn't really see since it was dark and she was leaning against his head.

It was an odd gesture and he assumed she was desperately trying to get his attention - or forcing his face the other way for some reason.

What was she doing?

The car moved on. Mary's urgent order hadn't had much of an effect.

John wouldn't stop until they reached the hospital, of that much Sherlock was sure.

"Mary... Mary," John started to argue, probably to tell her she needed to hold out just a minute longer. There surely must be the few more minutes to reach the safe haven.

It was probably the right decision; birth could take ages from what Sherlock had learned.

One time Mary had made him come to the birth preparation course when John had an emergency shift at the surgery because several other doctors had called in sick.

At first he was reluctant to go but John had made it clear he would be godfather he could as well learn about how it all worked, argued that it might be important for a later case.

Now he remembered what they had told the parents-to-be, the 're-lax' exhale thing. So he tried to remind Mary to use it, only she obviously wasn't ready to listen to it.

He was aware she was making a ruckus, but had been informed women in labour tended to do so, so nothing to be worried about.

"Pull over!"

The scream had an urgency that made him glance down Mary's belly and what he saw gave urgency a whole new meaning.

He could see a round shape protruding from under the hem of Mary's dress.

It was the baby's head!

The whole process and stages of birth appeared like a timetable in front of his inner eyes.

The birth couldn't have progressed this far already.

Well, he hadn't had the opportunity to really check out the signs of the stages, had to go by what Mary was saying, but this... this meant... the child would be born within the next few minutes. Only one or two contractions left to go.

The moment Sherlock mutter, "Oh my god," was when John finally understood it wasn't just the normal agitation about the pain that was making Mary tell him to stop the car, they indeed needed to stop right there.

Sherlock's mind stuttered to a halt.

They weren't at the hospital.

This was not good.

Five seconds later the car had stopped at an empty parking lot and John wrenched open the back door of the car, letting in cold air.

By then Mary had changed to another pattern of breathing and was obviously trying not to push.

"You need to move your feet towards me," John asked through the open door.

Mary started to move.

"Is she turning? Has she turned yet?" Mary wanted to know when John leaned down to see how far things had progressed.

Sherlock tried to fumble for the door release, desperate to get out. Having to endure Mary leaning on him in the antenatal class had been worse enough.

"Don't you dare to leave now. I need to brace against something, the door will not work!" Mary growled in his direction.

Somehow she released his buckle and he saw the badass agent in her, dealing with urgent things no matter in how much pain she was.

He liked that hardcore side of her, well, most of it... until a moment later she shifted and leaned against him with her full weight and pressed the back of her head against his ribcage, with a strength that made him grunt.

Reflexively he caught her shoulders, supporting her back.

"Don't push yet, she hasn't turned," John advised.

"Make her turn then!"

It was nonsense; Mary's words were directed by the pain.

She grunted and then screamed once more.

Sherlock was well aware this all would happen one day, the child getting out of her, but this had aspects that hit him hard.

She was so loud next to him it was causing nausea, his sensible hearing overwhelmed by her yells.

The quality of her distressed calls was also getting to him.

Massive pain made humans broadcast a certain type of noises and those were the exact ones. The screams of pain were very similar to those he had emitted when he was tortured and it brought back intense memories of his own desperation and pain.

He felt his own heart speed up, nausea rising.

Shouldn't he be over this?

Shouldn't the triggers be gone by now?

He had had enough EMDR therapy to not get into distressed about this any longer.

But the fact that he was effectively immobilised by Mary's weight and feeling the vibrations her loud voice caused, it was quite intense. She was trembling from the intense pain and a part of his consciousness was suddenly dragged back to the cellar.

He fought the memories.

For a brief moment he considered retreating into his mind palace, while Mary continued to curse and scream.

"Sherlock, stay with me, please," Mary interrupted his thoughts. It was more of an angry growl than a kind request.

"I'm here," Sherlock said out of reflex.

What was appropriate to soothe her?

They had been shown at the course what to do but that was surely meant for the husband to do...  He went through all the things and finally decided putting his hand on her shoulder wasn't too intimate. Her hand reached up and grabbed his, hard and she curled up.

"Next contraction."

She started to push.

Then, with another urgent growl of pain and a slight odd little noise it was over.

Mary relaxed and leaned her head back against his chest and Sherlock saw John lift a slightly bloody mass up and place it on her belly.

Sherlock stared at the baby.

It was naked and stained and covered in vernix caseosa.

Also, it was moving slightly, gurgling a bit, probably trying to get rid of the mucus in her mouth and doing her first breaths.

Mary reached for it, wrapped her arms around it, making now other noises.

It might be an odd kind of laughing, but Sherlock wasn't sure.

A knocking on the outside of Sherlock's car window caught him by surprise.

It was hard to remove his gaze from the shivering pair of mother and daughter; he still stared at the baby.

John dived in, leaning over Mary and put a piece of cloth over the tiny human, wiping her gently with it.

It started to wail but calmed again after a few seconds.

This was oddly unsettling, his inner organs seemed to quiver with an unknown energy, it felt like a mixture of electricity and shakiness.

He hadn't experienced this before.

This was all too close.

The knocking on the glass repeated.

"Sherlock?"

Someone opened the door and he stared up into John's face.

"You're alright?"

He was aware his expression must be showing some sort of distress or so.

John was holding a large bundle of a blanket and an old sleeping bag.

In quite a hurry they had forgotten Mary's hospital bag at home.

"Get out, put this under her back. I need you on the other side," John ordered while he returned to the boot, fetching more things.

Sherlock slid out from under her and stuffed the sleeping bag under Mary's back. She relaxed back to lie down on the soft fabrics and smiled up at Sherlock.

As silent as he could, he closed the door. Then he had to lean against the car, needing a moment to collect himself.

Mary's screams were still in his ears.

He felt shaky.

"Sherlock, here, now! I need more hands," John yelled.

So he rounded the car and found the mother partially covered with the blanket, the umbilical cord and winding out from under it.

John shoved a flashlight into his hands.

"Hold the light."

His scientific interest rose, of course he had seen an umbilical cord before, but it had been frozen prior to his examination and seeing it _alive_ was quite interesting.

John fumbled with two zip ties and tightened them around the cords. Although John's hands weren't shaking they and the cord were slippery and making it hard for him to get the end into the little hole.

"Hold that still, there."

Sherlock reached around John for the thing that had nourished the baby.

It was a strange situation, he was quite close to John and this was kind of an intimate event. He felt out of place, intruding something not-his.

"Come on, Sherlock, you're usually not this respectful with my personal space. Get in here, hold it tight."

The cord was stronger and more rugged than he had expected, the alive-thing was definitely different from what he had examined years ago.

As was the smell.

He should have known this event would have an odour, not a bad one, just a quite specific one.

Mary chuckled and they both lifted their gazes to her.

She was beaming with happiness and right now she was also amused.

"You two are so cute leaning in here."

The next moment the flash indicated she had taken a picture with her phone of them both.

"Here, take one of me."

"Sorry, no hands free. Give me a moment."

John took the scissors from the first aid kit and cut the cord. A bit of dark blood spilled onto Mary's dress, but due to all the mucus and body fluids that were already there it didn't matter.

John slipped out of one of the gloves he was wearing and took a picture of her and the baby, making sure his daughter's eyes were closed before he used the flash.

Mary smiled broadly.

"Give her to me, I need to check her out," John said, all business and doctor now.

"She's fine. You want me to call an ambulance?"

For a moment they exchanged gazes.

They had all been so tied up in the events that no one had actually thought of it, hadn't they?

"Oh, shit," John giggled, "Yes. Call them. And I want to check you out, too. Besides, she's getting cold."

"Alright."

Mary lifted her hands off the tiny baby that was only covered by a thin scarf John had hastily pulled out of the boot where it had lain forgotten for days.

"Take care of Mary," John addressed Sherlock, who didn't know what this might mean in this situation.

"It's alright, Sherlock, you don't need to cuddle me," Mary assured him. "Besides, I am busy making a call. Oh, maybe I should call Molly first," she said mischievously while she had the phone already at her ear.

Sherlock grinned, this was so her, so emergency situations handled with a clear brain.

"Mary, priorities!" John barked, obviously not seeing the humour of it any longer.

While Mary talked to an operator, he gently placed the baby on top of his cardigan on the driver's seat to examine her. He hurried; it was not really cold outside but way too cold for a naked wet newborn. He didn't bother to pad her dry. She needed to be wrapped up somewhere warm, it was way more important than anything else.

Sherlock stood by, not knowing what to do.

"Get your coat, will you?" John addressed him over his shoulder.

Happy to have something to do Sherlock complied.

At the moment he was only wearing his suit jacket, it was a mild night, the coat was in the booth.

Had John realised he had lapsed into a mild fit of distress earlier?

Was he suggesting to get the coat because of that?

Sherlock didn't like to be this predictable.

Whatever had made John say it, his coat would feel good, would provide a safe environment. He slipped into it.

"Eh, John, expulsion of the afterbirth happening sometime in the near future," Mary warned, grimacing.

"Sherlock, come here!

John gently wrapped the thin colourful scarf around his daughter's head and body.

The baby was fine. Exhausted but fine.

John lifted her up, supporting her head and stared at her face for a brief moment, enjoying meeting her for the first time.

Meanwhile Sherlock took his time observing them.

He experienced that odd sensation again when he observed his best friend gazing in amazement at his newborn child.

Stepping closer to the new father he joined him, catalogued her eyes and her nose and her small mouth.

"Boys?" Mary interrupted their collective awe.

Then suddenly, John shoved the little extemporary wrapped bundle onto Sherlock's chest.

"Keep her safe... and keep her warm... and support the head. I need to take care of Mary... Keep her head _warm._ "

Then he dived back into the car, taking a bundle of sterile dressings from the first aid kit with him.

For a moment Sherlock stood frozen, the child upright against his chest.

He gulped.

He didn't know how to handle this.

Of course he had watched YouTube videos on how to change diapers and prepare bottles, but this was different.

This was close contact.

Very close.

Had he looked like this after his birth?

That thought felt odd.

Before he could stop himself he did the first thing that came to him, no, more like an impulse of sorts.

He sniffed her.

"Sherlock? Are you two good there?" came Mary's voice from the inside of the car.

Surely it wasn't the standard procedure to smell a child the first time you held it, he felt caught somehow.

He looked down at the baby.

... and felt her shiver.

Keep her warm.

She had just been forced out of her warm cosy world she had lived in for month, which had been all she knew. He felt suddenly sorry for her. He was quite aware what it meant to be assaulted by the own senses, it was worse enough being used to it, but this was all new to her.

Keep her warm, keep her warm! John's voice droned through his mind.

With intricate movements he first pulled one front side of his coat over her, then the other, wrapping her effectively inside with him so his body heat would keep her warm.

The baby was only wrapped in the thin cloth and therefore he was able to feel her tiny movements against his chest.

It was alive!

And suddenly so very present and real.

Of course Mary had guided his hand to her belly and made him feel the baby kicking on several occasions.

It had unsettled him, the strong movements... and the fact that Mary felt all of them _inside_ her. He wondered how that must feel, to share a body and it had kept his mind uneasy for a few days.

Now it was no longer in there, but on him, kicking his chest.

Strong and tiny and alive and... smelling of birth and baby.

It was an odd smell of renewal and bodily things.

His senses all honed into the small being he pressed against his chest.

She was making little noises and was smacking and her movements were so very uncoordinated and helpless.

It was suddenly so very real.

Unearthed.

Out for him so touch, to sense, to examine.

He closed his eyes, listened to her body, for the first time he was wanting to experience a baby.

It caught him by surprise, this slight urge.

Up to now he had barely wanted to come into close contact with it.

He was only wearing a thin silk shirt and his sensible skin was registering her breath through the gaps in between the buttons.

The drumming of her tiny fast heartbeat.

His surroundings vanished as he concentrated on her.

The thing had turned into a person.

Without an intentional act of wanting to do so he found himself in his mind palace, only it wasn't the normal surroundings, it was just darkness all around him, therefore he needed a moment to understand where he was.

Pressing in on him was a fast delicate rhythm he a moment later recognised as her beating heart.

With astonishment he realised he was witnessing the creating of a new room in his mind palace.

The thing was rooms were built, a conscious act he usually needed to initiate.

But this was building itself.

Well, since they were already here they could watch what was happening.

The rhythm stayed and seemed to define the room... as was the smell that surrounded him, it was bright and thick.

The image of her as she had lain on Mary chest, her tiny fingers outstretched and equipped with even tinier fingernails was the first thing he consciously stored in the new room.

Everything about her was so small.

A noise entered the room, reverberated on the large bottomless emptiness around them.

She was a thinking living entity, not a hidden thing any longer.

She was moving her fingers under his coat, her nails scratching over his chest, uncoordinated but still carried out by an act of will... or the lack of the restraining uterus walls.

This virtual space wouldn't stay empty long, this was hers, ready to be filled with things about her.

He had never considered having children.

From his point of view the world was a cruel place and he had no desire infliction existence to an innocent child.

Existing was pain and he wouldn't want to do this to on anyone he cared for.

Well, the concept was a bit confusion since someone who didn't live couldn't be loved and therefore...

Confusing.

When he was little and had learned that parents actually had a say in deciding if a child was created. It had made him angry at his parents, had wondered how they could - knowing how the world worked - ever decide to do something like 'life' to a child they claimed they loved. Much later he had understood other people experienced life different. The average human being was far less assaulted by the own senses, didn't see and store _everything_ , was too intelligent for the own good, had less problems with social interaction, enjoyed many things and in general thought life was a positive thing.

The fact that his perception and understanding was different had already affected him when he was a toddler, making life harder than it was for other children his age.

His parents had failed to notice the enormity of it at first, although they had raised him with love and care. They had never understood, the only one who had – at least partially – was Mycroft.

Well, the baby was here, it hadn't been his decision to bring her into the world and with a bit of luck she wouldn't be haunted by his issues.

Since she was already here there was only one way to proceed.

Keep her safe and take care of her.

He wrapped his arms closer around her and his torso.

Without realising it, Sherlock Holmes was doing something he hadn't done since his childhood, something his parents had criticised him for and had even forbidden him.

He was rocking.

If someone had told him he was doing it, he probably would have denied it.

This was how John found him a few moments later, sitting on the rim of the boot and stimming,  cradling the baby to his chest. Making tiny fast forwards and backwards movements with his eyes closed.

"Sherlock?"

There was undeniable joy about the situation in front of him in John's voice.

"Hmm?"

"Could you actually open your eyes?"

"John? What's wrong?" Mary asked from the backseat.

"Nothing, just kind of... the way Sherlock is keeping our daughter safe is very..." John didn't finish the sentence for some reason.

The mental cobweb of a newborn mind palace room lifted but Sherlock had to struggle to get back to reality.

They had hovered here, sensing each other, the baby and him – for a brief moment just existing together in space.

It had been quite an intense experience.

He was happy to hand her back over to one of the parents, aware his right to hold her now had the lowest possible priority in this group, also, he struggled with the intense sentiment that was now rising as he saw John with tears of joy in his eyes, grinning widely.

"Bring her to Mary," John said, wanting to provide Mary with a glance at the detective having a newborn under his coat.

When Sherlock unwrapped the baby he was well aware he had been making quite a mess inside the Belstaff with the vernix and fluids and all. As expected his shirt and the lining of the coat were now all covered in the white substance.

As soon as he was home he needed to take a sample of that, it might provide for some interesting experiments.

Mary opened her mouth, a bit afraid probably how he might react to the mess.

"It's alright, I was well aware," Sherlock assured her, handing over the child, covering it additionally with the cardigan John handed him.

"You know, I think there is nothing about the human body that could repel one Sherlock Holmes... Is there anything you can't stomach?... Or anything at all that grosses you out?" Mary joked.

John grinned, well aware how many soon-to-be-fathers turned out to be far more shocked than they admitted or had even fainted in the face of birth.

"I fear there are quite a number of things, yes," Sherlock answered in a low voice, "But they are not feared because of their nature but because of the events that are linked to them in my memories."

Mary gave him a sad smile, well aware he was hinting at bad memories.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

The detective just nodded.

"Will we wait for the ambulance or should we drive over there on our own? I mean it's only another five or six minutes from here. What is taking them so long?" John asked with a glance at his watch.

"Give them another three minutes, then start driving," Mary answered.

"And meanwhile, get in here, I am starting to get cold," she then added. "Shut the doors and turn on the heating."

"Oh," Sherlock realised his coat was already stained thoroughly, could as well use it.

"You want my coat?"

For a moment he was a bit insecure about the look John gave him because he was unable to interpret what it meant. Then John stepped close to him and hugged him.

"God, I'm a father."

Briefly, he squeezed back once before he let his friend go again.

"Indeed."

"You're a godfather... We are parents... Jees, this was fast."

Did they want the coat or not?

"Guys? Get in here, I want some company to share my happiness with in close quarters... and yeah, I want the coat. This flimsy blanket is doing not much for us other than protecting my dignity."

"Thank you, Sherlock," John glanced up at him, his emotions very close to the surface.

They entered the car and when the ambulance pulled up there was laughter emitting from the vehicle.

By the time they reached the hospital Sherlock hadn't typed on his phone for almost forty minutes, seemed to have completely forgotten about it.

John was the one who had taken more picture from the front seat while they waited for the ambulance and texted it to Mrs Hudson, Molly and Greg.

Sherlock insisted he also sent one to Mycroft and the giggling started again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my work, please leave some feedback.  
> Constructive criticism welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for gramma mistakes and typos, I am not a native speaker.  
> I'd love to hear what you think.  
> 


End file.
